


Tree Bad! Fire Pretty

by Barbayat



Series: Three little saplings and the big bad wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Season/Series 03A AU, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barbayat/pseuds/Barbayat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Stiles pays a visit to Derek's loft with Lydia in tow, they come across Peter's new pet project ...</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“What are you doing here anyway?”</i><br/><i>“Watering the plants?” Peter shrugged unimpressed by Stiles’ inquisitive tone.</i><br/><i>“Plants? Derek doesn’t have any plants, he doesn’t need one more thing under his care dying .. eh,” Stiles couldn’t believe he said that loud in front of Peter.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Tree Bad! Fire Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> This is the Bonus entry for the [Mating Games 2014](http://mating-games.livejournal.com/) Round 3 [Out of context D&D quotes](http://mating-games.livejournal.com/17326.html). 
> 
> This happens to be my [chosen quote](http://outofcontextdnd.tumblr.com/post/81812844636/youre-hot-but-youre-not-that-hot).

  


Even with Derek gone, it seemed that they had this compulsion to come back to his place. Okay maybe not everyone but Stiles came here regularly. It was like someone needed to make sure this place was okay, so that when Derek came back, it wasn’t too uninviting. Or at least not more uninviting than it already looked.

The loft lacked all homey touches: like curtains, plants, some personal items. Maybe just some cleaner surfaces or furnishing would do. The furniture in this place looked it might as well been salvaged from a junkyard. It sort of went along with that gruffy, but sexy hobo look Derek was sporting.

It was always interesting who lingered around or showed up, when Stiles came around.

Most often it was Isaac, which made sense; he had lived here, Derek used to be his alpha, if home life at the McCall’s got too overwhelming for him, he came here to be alone. That usually meant Isaac let hang out that assholish side and explained to Stiles that he had no business being here in Derek’s place.

Even Scott had been here - looking for Isaac. Somehow Stiles was sure it had been a guise. Scott didn’t need to come up to the place to know it was empty. They both didn’t get off to a good start with Derek but now that they knew him better, they realised the missed opportunities to become friends: to be a pack.

There was someone else also trying to find his place, but nobody was regretting missing the chance to join his pack. Yet, like a bad penny, Peter kept also turning up at the loft. It almost seemed like a second home for him. Peter never quite told Stiles what he was doing here. It didn’t really matter, maybe his neighbours were too loud or he had needed a less populated area to hide until the police stopped looking for him. Either way, Peter was the one person Stiles rather not ran into.

Allison never came around and it didn’t surprise him.

Lydia, didn’t like the place very much. Seeing two people being murdered here gruesomely and not routing nearly as much for the return of its owner was something Stiles understood. There was also the chance it were those weird banshee feelings. But she did sometimes came with him, as a friend, and Stiles was glad they were doing this together.

At least until that day they came round after studying past noon. Stiles had just wanted to come by quickly, before dropping Lydia off at home. He had run into Peter maybe six times in the past two month, what were the chances, that the third time he brought Lydia with him, Peter was there?

They found him leaning leaning over a map or rather large plan on that big empty, slightly banged up table, when they came in. Stiles couldn’t make out any more details, as Peter folded the map in half and smiled. “Well, if that isn’t a pleasant surprise …”

“Why? Are you about to drop dead?” Stiles replied.

Lydia looked displeased, but didn’t say anything.

“I’ve decided to give up on that,” Peter explained casually as he folded the map until it fit easily into the back pocket of his jeans. “Still hoping to come in and find Derek being all broody and unwelcoming?”

Stiles glared at him. “Not finding you here would do just as well.” He paused, there was something different about this place, he couldn’t quite place it. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Watering the plants?” Peter shrugged unimpressed by Stiles’ inquisitive tone.

“Plants? Derek doesn’t have any plants, he doesn’t need one more thing under his care dying .. eh,” Stiles couldn’t believe he said that loud in front of Peter.

Derek’s uncle was clearly amused at either the blunt truth of it or just that it had slipped out.

“He does now,” Lydia suddenly said.

When Stiles turned to look at her, he saw that she was pointing at a meager looking group of three weird, potted plants. Taking a closer look he had no clue what part of the flora those even were. If Peter had brought them here, they were bad news. That was all he really needed to know. Stiles wondered if his least favourite Hale had picked up botany as his new hobby. In which case those slightly dead looking sprouts were likely turning into poisonous orchids.

“So what kind of nefarious, belligerent form of plant unlife is that?” Stiles said barely able to hold back the urge to poke Peter.

It was the look he got from him which reminded Stiles: weakened or not, Peter could still knock him out, if he went too far. In that scenario Lydia would be all alone with that creep. Stiles decided he better left any issues working out to a time when he had Scott or Isaac with him; or at least the baseball bat.

Circling around, Peter stopped between them and leaned over like Lydia who was taking a closer look at the pots.

“I bet Lydia can tell.” Peter was just an inch from her as he spoke.

He had this complimentary tone that Stiles didn’t approve of at all. Neither did Lydia, judging by the disapproving look on her face. Then she gave a nod. “They’re from the Nemeton - little seeds.”

“Very good,” Peter replied smugly. “I see you’ve gotten a bit more in touch with your innate abilities. You know - potential is a terrible thing to waste.”

The way he spoke to her began to remind Stiles more and more of Kaa. He might not have the hypnotic eye thing going on, but the way he flashed his smile and showed off those muscles he had been putting on since his return from the grave were drawing Lydia’s attention noticeably. She might still be reserved for the moment but Stiles knew she was immune to the bite, but not compliments.

“Is that why you brought these here?” she shot back.

“More scientific curiosity, but I think you’re probably right, it would’ve been a shame not try and nourish them until they grow.” Peter looked down almost fondly on the pots.

“Great, that’s like the last thing we need, you with your own mini-Nemeton plant garden,” Stiles threw his hands up. “Wasn’t the old tree good enough? Did you mind sharing the tree with the other nutcases sacrificing to it?”

Peter turned his head, “You mean like my dear nephew?”

Stiles facepalmed: he had walked right into that one. After a moment, when his mimic had returned to normal and his urge to pummel Peter surpassed him, Stiles went back on track. “I can’t believe you’re telling us this, can you Lyds?”

“What are we going to do about it?” Lydia shrugged.

Stiles shook his head and shrugged. “We can tell Scott, come back here and return them to compost?”

“So much hostility to three little plant seeds, who have done nothing to you, “ Peter mused. “Who is the bad guy here?”

“Nothing done? They are from the Nemeton: people sacrifice people to these things!” Stiles ranted on, ignoring the way Lydia looked at him and shook her head. “You’re are growing not one but three! Three mini-Nemetons. Really? If I’m the bad guy for wanting to demolish your junior aides in devilry, I’m going to be the bad guy.”

With that Stiles grabbed one pot and tried to smash it, but the moment he let go, Peter simply took it back and put it in its old place, turning the pot until it stood in the same direction as before. “Sometimes you can be so annoying, but today you’re fairly amusing.” Peter continued, his voice slipping into that taxing teacher wannabe tone. Or maybe it was just how people sounded who loved the sound of their own voice. “Have you ever thought about what it might take to undo the Nemeton’s powers?”

Stiles pouted, when he suddenly realised this wasn’t going into the direction he had anticipated. Even worse, Peter had just pulled his leg and he hadn’t noticed; because Stiles was convinced that Peter honestly believed he wasn’t a bad person. Whatever Peter was going to tell them, Stiles was intend on finding out his true motivation.

“It’s a cut up stump: short of digging it out and turning into firewood, I doubt there’s anything.”

Peter gave him a half-hearted nod. “Maybe, but that might not be that prudent a method. Even if such an enormous undertaking would remove the physical presence, there’s no guarantee that it would rid that area of the metaphysical presence. It has lain its roots for thousands of years and recently, it got a hell of a power upgrade.”

“The sacrifice we offered it,” Lydia sighed and laid one hand on the pot in front of Peter.

Stiles found it slightly creepy how she ran a finger along its edge.

“I see, and by making more of them, we’re going to sap all of its powers out.”

Peter rolled his eyes and it was actually Lydia who spoke. “It might work.”

“What?” Stiles had the feeling he wasn’t hearing right, but Lydia was serious.

“They have this connection to the tree, if they get stronger, they might draw power from the Nemeton and if they aren’t planted into the ground …” She stopped looking a bit weirded out.

Peter looked proudly at her. “Yes, that’s the theory. If you opened yourself more to the supernatural world, you could learn so much. You already have gained great insight and considering how smart you are ...”

“That she is, what’s your point?” Stiles didn’t like the way Peter tried to wrap her in his shady blanket of flattery. He took a step closer, trying to draw Peter’s attention away from her.

“My point is, obviously she could help me with my little project and in return, I could help her gain more insight in what it means to be a banshee.”

Lydia shook her head and Stiles scoffed. “You’re like the last person she should ask.”

“Even if he were the only person ...” Lydia began and then stopped.

Peter sighed. “You don’t trust me - then there’s nothing I can do to help. But I could and I should, if you’d let me.”

“That isn’t going to happen,” Lydia replied but her voice sounded uncannily unsure.

“What I think you should do,” Stiles yelled, making Peter turn back to him, “is to leave her alone, you’ve done enough to her already.” Stiles couldn’t believe that he had gotten so close and worked up that he was not only having his finger pointing closely at Peter’s face but that he was in two inches of kissing distance.

Peter hadn’t even the decency to look bothered by him being in his face. “But she ows being a banshee just as much to you, as she does to me.”

Stiles swallowed, the change in Peter’s tone was staggering: it was nasty and triumphing. Stiles knew what was coming and as Peter’s smirk grew wider Stiles went back another step.

“You knew how to save Derek, but instead you forced me to make you tell me,” Peter shook his head making this disapproving noise. “If you had supported me, then we could’ve worked it out peacefully. Apart of course from one unavoidable dead psychotic aunt.”

“You tried to kill Allison,” Lydia interjected.

Peter turned and leaned against the counter with the potted plants, having both of them in his eye this way. “Well, seeing her pump Scott full of bullets, I guess I saw her as future Aunt Batshit 2.0. It wasn’t my finest night.”

“As if you ever had any,” Stiles grumbled, he really hated how this conversation had turned out. “What’s next? You blame us for putting you down and making you haunt Lydia from beyond the grave.”

“Well,” Peter crossed his arms. “Try being dead, maybe you like it. I didn’t. But the point you’re overlooking, since I came back, I’ve left Lydia alone. Just as she had asked me, too. I’ve been helpful to the best of my - somewhat diminished - abilities and I think I deserve a bit of trust for that.”

Stiles laughed, “Yeah, right.”

All that was missing now was Peter going full out ‘Trust in me. You can sleep safe and sound - now that I’m around …’

“From the looks of it, we can’t even trust you to water our plants …” Lydia said tapping the edge of the pot.

“I do much better with Gardenias,” Peter said with the spark of amusement in his eyes.

Focusing back his attention on his not very healthy looking plant seeds, he leaned over the counter and look at them. “I just found out what they really need to grow, the first batches all died pretty fast. I think it’s because the Nemeton drains them, before they have a chance to reach a level of healthiness.”

“What’s that? Are you whispering to them? Telling them how they can reach their full potential if only they’re dumb enough to trust you?” Stiles asked and all the options shot into his head. “Oh no - I got it, you have a ukulele hidden here and sing to them. Since your landlord threatened to cancel the lease on your apartment: you came here.”

“Want me to show you?” Peter leaned uncomfortably close towards him.

“I think I’ll pass,” Stiles said with some disgust, getting another very unsettling image of what Peter might be doing to the plants. The more he thought about it, the more he gained some sympathy for the saplings.

“You clubbed a gigantic merged Alpha with a baseball bat and you’re chickening out from a little plant feeding? How disappointing, Stiles.”

Lydia leaned closer as well, almost daringly. “I want to see it.”

“I’d love to show you,” he replied and even though Peter’s face was slightly turned away from him, Stiles saw the smile and the nauseating split second when he licked with his tongue over his lips.

“I’ve already seen that.”

“When?” Stiles was glad that she obviously wasn’t all that impressed but just the thought was revolting. Unless of course she had meant something else and for some bizarre reason his own mind jumped for no good reason to thinking about Peter’s junk.

“Hmm, it wasn’t exactly a proper funeral; when you buried my burned and naked corpse under the floorboards of my old house.” His smile widened and he turned to Lydia. “To be honest, the light wasn’t the best.”

“You’re not honestly going to jerk off on the plants, are you?” Stiles said, shuddering and poking his tongue out in disgust.

“I haven’t thought of that, I could try if you’re willing to lend a hand,” he was looking from Lydia to him, then raising his eyebrows all flirty. “Or you could try, it was your idea.”

Shaking of these images, Stiles wondered if his best option wasn’t to turn around and just leave. He wished he could remain as calm and detached as Lydia was, who if anything only showed a small tiny hint of amusement, but not when Peter was looking over to her.

“Okay, I bite - ehm - I mean do show us what you actually do, unless it involves ….” Stiles stopped as he saw Peter pop out his claws. “Woah, hold it,” he took a step back.

But he wasn’t attacked or grabbed. Instead Peter held his own arm over the first pot and ran his claw over his underarm. A deep cut appeared and blood trickled down to the plant. Methodically, Peter let his blood water each of the plants, while Stiles just stared with an open mouth.

He had grown accustomed to the sight of blood, but he could almost feel the tugging of the subtle lines of powers as it stirred something in the small saplings and his lower intestines. Even Lydia was sadly more fascinated by the plant growing a tiny bit in front of their eyes, than Stiles’ reaction to the plants.

“Ah look! It shows already, they’re taking well to this method,” he proclaimed proudly.

“How often have you been doing this?” Lydia asked, curiously.

Stiles felt his throat becoming dry, as well as bile rising up. Maybe he felt it so much more thanks to the fact that he had been among the persons being sacrificed to the Nemeton. He couldn’t stop it, so he just hurried to the bathroom.

On his way out, he heard Peter’s answer. “In the past twelve hours, this was the fourth time.”

Then Stiles was hanging head first over the toilet: the conversation in the next room blanked out by the sound of his stomach emptying itself into the porcelain throne. It wouldn’t stop until everything he had eaten today was out. By the time he had washed up and gotten rid of the disgusting taste in his mouth, the strange feeling of the evil tree echoing through its mini versions was gone.

Instead, he found Lydia and Peter still standing over them, Peter’s voice all smarmy and suave, as he talked to her. “I’m always willing to talk with you on the matter or others.”

“Given that people aren’t exactly lining up to talk to you in the first place, I don’t doubt that.” Lydia was handing it out good.

“I don’t have a problem striking up conversations, but there aren’t quite as many people as beautiful, smart or magical as you to talk to.”

“Too bad for you, that she prefers talking to non-homicidal, non-magical people,” Stiles interrupted their little chat.

“I don’t know, I think she has a thing for them. Especially, when they’re so damn good looking as I am,” Peter glanced at him but then his gaze went to Lydia’s chest. While it might seem he was checking out her cleavage he probably listened for her heartbeat. Or he was doing both. Being creepy was like his second nature.

“You’re hot, but you’re not that hot,” Lydia told him.

Stiles voiced his approval of that slight in a burst of laughter. “Unless - we light you back on fire, that would make you at least briefly the hottest guy in Beacon Hills.”

“So Lydia and I can have these uninterrupted, long nights all to ourselves?” Peter asked with faked innocence in his voice.

Stiles hadn’t meant to bring the unfortunate haunting from the grave time up again. He had only meant to rattle Peter but instead Lydia rolled her eyes and let out a groan: a very uncomfortable sounding one. Trust it to Peter to not only let a hit below the belt bounce off of him but make it land on someone else.

“We should get going, we’ve been far too long here already,” Stiles told her and was glad when she nodded. “I wanted to drop you off at home. Soon I go to pick up the stuff for my dad.”

“Or you can stay, Lydia and I bring you home. This way we could talk a bit more about those good points you made on raising the seedlings.” Peter obviously wasn’t ready to let this go.

“Maybe we can all get together and talk about giving those plants the proper treatment, how about tomorrow at eight?” Stiles went towards the door but turned back his head once or twice to give some emphasis to his words.

“If you can’t contribute anything useful to the discussion, I doubt the others can add anything, but maybe they can lend a few drops,” Peter concluded ominously.

Stiles was opening the door to let Lydia out when Peter addressed her again. “Think about it, Lydia, we could help each other a lot. Plus, we know you like it hot.”

Instead of leaving, she stopped and looked back. “May that be, but you shouldn’t be playing with fire - that’s our job.”

Then she walked out, making Stiles’ grin broadly, proud at her for not being swayed, until he realised that it might not have been just warning to stay away from the plant raising. “No,” he said to himself on the way down and looked at Lydia. There was no way this was a come on from her. She wouldn’t. “Would you?” he asked her.

And Lydia just looked at him in a way that revealed nothing and yet seemed to say so much at the same time.


End file.
